


burst your bubble

by Dresupi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Retail, Bad Flirting, Cashier Molly Hooper, Drug Store, F/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, POV Molly Hooper, Philip Anderson Being a Dick, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, The Shampoo deserves its own tag because it's practically a character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 13:52:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15775404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/pseuds/Dresupi
Summary: Sherlock always comes through Molly's queue. And he always makes the most random purchases. In her heart of hearts, she hopes for a reason.But when hasanyonedescribed Sherlock Holmes as reasonable?Retail AU





	burst your bubble

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by tarticawhat on tumblr: "I’m a cashier and you’re buying some really random products, I’m trying not to judge, but…wtf dude?"
> 
> My first fic in this fandom, before now, I've only ever written drabbles, so... be nice? Pretty please? 
> 
> Britpicked and beta'd by the fabulous starfishdancer!

“Your bloke is here again,” Mike called from the chemist’s counter in the back of the store.

Molly felt her face flush scarlet as her fingers closed around the collar of her blouse. Had she put her hand there? She couldn’t remember doing it, but here it was, all the same. If she had pearls, she’d be clutching them.

Sherlock Holmes wasn’t her bloke. Not that she would throw him out of bed… but that was beside the point.

The point was, he wasn’t  _ hers _ .

Even though he always seemed to come through her queue. And with the oddest, most mind-boggling purchases, too.

On one particular occasion, he’d walked out of Bart’s Pharmacy with every red lipstick they carried. “For a case,” he’d said in way of explanation. What red lipstick could tell him about a crime wasn’t clear, but Molly didn’t make a habit of arguing with the self-proclaimed consulting detective.

“I wonder if he’s here to buy all the lippy again…” Philip Anderson muttered, but not so quietly he couldn’t be heard. He shifted his weight and peered out the front windows at the man in the Belstaff who was currently walking toward the store.

“That was only a few months back,” Molly said absently. “I doubt he could have used them all up by now.”

“If he found a favorite shade, he might have done,” was Anderson’s snide retort.

Rolling her eyes, she smoothed down the front of her smock and checked her image in the security feed. She’d worn comfortable clothing, as per usual, since she was on her feet for most of the day, but now she’d wished she’d put forth a bit more effort.

The doors slid open and the man himself walked into the shop. This time, he wasn’t alone. John Watson, that doctor who lived with him, was just now exiting the car and hurrying to keep up.

Molly’s heart sank.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Dr. Watson, she simply preferred it when Sherlock came alone.

Sherlock’s eyes scanned the store, finding what he was looking for in an instant, and taking off in the direction of the hair care products.

John entered a few moments later, eyes searching for and finding Sherlock. Once he had, he turned to nod in Molly’s direction. “Ms. Hooper…”

“Dr. Watson,” she returned, watching as John made his way back to where his flatmate was currently perusing the bottles of hair wash. He’d selected a few different brands, and proceeded to dump all of these into John’s arms.

“I’ll get a trolley, then?” John asked, looking very put upon when he got no response from Sherlock.

“It’s a specific brand, John. We find the brand, we find the killer.”

John huffed out some sort of rude reply and walked up to the front of the store where the trolleys were kept. He was about to walk toward one when Anderson stopped him, shaking his head. “Afraid you can’t go past the queues with products you haven’t purchased, sir.”

John shot Anderson a look of pure disbelief. “You think I’m nicking twelve bottles of shampoo? What, do you think I’m mad?”

Anderson glanced back at Sherlock before returning his gaze to John. He shrugged. “Can’t let you through, Dr. Watson.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake…” Molly groaned, walking out from behind her register to procure a trolley for the poor doctor. “Anderson, you’re the worst sort of human.”

“Oy!” her coworker protested as she pushed the trolley towards John, who shot her a grateful look as he dumped the contents of his arms into it, and then pushed it back towards the hair care aisle where Sherlock already had more bottles at the ready.

“Just because you fancy that looney doesn’t mean we all do, Hooper…” Anderson hissed. Again, not so under-his-breath that everyone in the bloody shop couldn’t hear him.

“I don’t fancy him,” Molly mumbled, blushing like mad as she made her way back round to her cash register. “I don’t.”

It took them a few minutes longer, but soon Holmes and Watson had chosen a bottle  in every brand and fragrance. There were dozens of bottles that they began unloading at Molly’s queue, much to the amusement of the troll-like Anderson.

She rang them all up; some bottles didn’t even cost an entire pound and then there were others that cost nearly forty each.

Sherlock stood there, looking at Molly in that unnerving way he had. She felt her shoulders tense up, sensing an impending deduction.

Those deductions were the reason Anderson hated Sherlock Holmes, and while Molly could understand Philip’s negative reaction--Sherlock’s deductions were often brutally honest to the point of cruel--she also held them in high regard.

Not many people spoke their minds nowadays.

Sherlock was an old soul, she could feel it. 

Alright, he was also quite rude. And unpleasant on his best days. And manipulative. But he was an old soul as well. And very fit, if his tailored clothing was any indication.

Not that she’d noticed.

“Anderson,  _ do _ cease with your glowering and go earn your meager paycheque… There’s a clean-up needed on aisle seven,” Sherlock said, his voice low but terse. “Honestly, how you people can’t smell the spilt perfume is beyond me. It’s giving me a headache… John… could you go fetch me something for my head?”

“I think you need a prescription for the sort of thing that’d fix  _ your _ head,” was John’s retort.

“Your sarcasm is tiresome. For my head _ ache _ , please.”

John’s eyes rolled skyward as he trudged back towards where the painkillers were kept. “Any specific requests?”

“ _ You’re _ the doctor,” Sherlock replied impatiently, his eyes never leaving Molly as she rang out the rest of their purchases. “Ms. Hooper. You look lovely this--”

“Save it Sherlock, what do you want?” she asked, meeting his gaze and hoping like hell she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.

His lips curled into a smile, she believed a genuine one. “I do believe your personality is coming along nicely, Molly. What time are you finished with your… proletariat nightmare?”

“My shift’s over in thirty,” she replied.

“Smashing,” he said with a grin. “Fancy a visit to mine?”

“That depends… what for?” she asked as she started placing the shampoo bottles into bags, ringing up each at a five pence as she did.

“Oh, wait, don’t do that. I have my own in the car… John will get them,” Sherlock said, batting her hand away. His fingers brushed hers and she couldn’t help but shiver a little at the contact.

She took off the bag charges and drummed her short fingernails on the counter as they waited for John to meander back up to the front, dropping a bottle of paracetamol on the counter and jamming his hands in his pockets.

“Could you go fetch the bags from the boot?” Sherlock asked. 

“ _ You _ go get them, “John said. “I won’t flirt with your Molly while you’re gone, I swear it.”

Molly’s eyebrows shot up off her forehead as Sherlock glared daggers at the good doctor.

But then, he was gone in a flourish of Belstaff, stalking out to the parking lot for his bags.

John smirked in Molly’s direction. “Don’t look so surprised, Ms. Hooper. There are approximately two Superdrugs and a Tesco within walking distance of our flat and he always chooses to come here. Except on Tuesday. Because you’re--”

“Off on Tuesday…” Molly finished for him.

John winked. “Yea, you know.”

“I most certainly  _ didn’t _ know.”

“ _ Now _ you know,” he amended, pulling out his wallet. “I’m sure I’m supposed to foot the bill for all this. Most expensive obsession he’s ever had, you.”

Molly’s face flushed all shades of red when Sherlock bustled back through the doors, reusable shopping bags in tow.

“I’ll see you at yours, Sherlock?” she asked hopefully, seeing something akin to the same in his eyes when he met hers.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward slightly before he replied. “Yes. I’m at 221B. Baker Street. Ms. Hudson will let you in”

“She’s not a housekeeper,” John reminded him as Molly handed him the receipt.

“She’ll let you in,” Sherlock repeated.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me some sugar if you liked it! <3 <3 <3


End file.
